


Perfection is many things

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU - unspecified, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, blowjob, dean and cas are parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13269402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: It always starts with"Hello, Dean."This time it's even followed by nakedness.





	Perfection is many things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marvellous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvellous/gifts).



> Witten for the [Dean/Castiel Secret Santa](http://deancasxmas.tumblr.com/) as a gift for Marvellous based on your prompt: Leaving the kids with Sam so Dean and Cas could go rent a hotel room for the night and have some alone time.
> 
> This was not the story I thought I was going to write, but what is a writer but a slave to the muse? and the muse wanted porn. I hope you enjoy it as much as the muse did - I know I enjoyed writing it ;)
> 
> Unbeta'd because time management isn't a skill I possess, but comments, kudos ~~, title suggestions~~ and constructive critism is welcomed.  
>  If you think I've forgotten some important tags let me know.

With a final look in the mirror to make sure he looked as immaculate as possible Dean turned off the lights and made his way to the front of the house. A few minutes later, now wrapped in a winter coat, scarf and gloves as a protection against the cold wind and with the boots he’d gotten for Christmas warming his feet, all he had to do was wait for the cab he’d ordered.

“I’m leaving now,” he yelled, smiling at the sound of little feet against the floor not to mention the loud ‘oomph’ that told him Sam had most likely taken an elbow to the stomach. Crouching in anticipation, Dean’s bracing himself for twin bodies slamming against him. They don’t disappoint, both Emma and Claire wrapping their little arms around his neck hugging him hard enough he’s thankful they’re only five, otherwise there’d be some serious damage to him by now.

He hugs them back just as fiercely though. It’s not that he doubts Sam’s babysitting skills but it isn’t often he’s not home in time to tuck his daughters to bed so he figures he can get away with it. A honk of a horn interrupts the hug and with a final squeeze he disentangles from their arms, gets to his feet and slaps Sam’s shoulder in a hurried goodbye before opening the front door.

Dean’s barely a step through when he pauses, turns and bends to plant a small kiss on two patiently waiting cheeks turned towards him. Sadly, the driver’s an impatient ass - why, Dean wonders. after all the meter’s most likely already running - who takes the opportunity to slam his hand against the wheel, letting the noise fill the evening air and forcing Dean into motion lest he wants to deal with Mrs. Driver’s complaints - again he might add.  
With a final wave he jogs towards the cab, gets in and rattles off the address before turning to wave at the kids (and his brother) until they take a left and Dean’s family’s out of sight.

The drive passes in silence; the inside of the car far warmer than it is outside, sweat beading at the line of his hair. A look out the window tells him they aren’t far but the heat’s getting unbearable so he takes off the gloves, hoping it’ll help a bit. It doesn’t, but it’s less noisy nervously twisting them in his hands rather than tapping his feet against the floor of the car. It feels like an eternity before the cab finally stops and in less than a minute he’s paid and is out and across the street, standing in front of the reception desk.

“Good evening, sir,” the clerk greets him with a polite smile. “How may I help you?”

“I… have a reservation?” Dean mentally slaps himself for making it come out like a question. Thankfully the clerk doesnt notice (or - which is probably more likely - doesn’t care), simply poising his hands over the keyboard before asking:

“Name?”

“Winchester,” he says, too fast but at least he’d gotten rid of the questioning lilt to his voice. He watches as the clerk’s fingers fly across the keyboard, reaches into a drawer and do something Dean can’t see, before placing something at the size of a credit card that seems to be made of some kind of paper or the like. The key, Dean realizes, at the same time the clerk looks from the screen right into Dean’s eyes.

“Room 1045, sir. If you’ll take the elevator,” he points and Dean turns, sees the steel doors opening to let an older couple out, “to the third floor, then turn right and the room’s on your left. Do you have any luggage we can help you with, sir?”

Dean grabs the key and shakes his head.

“No thank you.”

“Very well then, sir. May I remind you that breakfast is served until nine and check out is before noon. Have a nice evening and enjoy your stay.”

Dean’s answering smile and nod is as polite as the clerk’s and holds just about as much substance as he practically runs to the elevator before his nerves get the best of him. He’s barely pressed the buttons before the doors open and he breathes a relieved sigh once they close behind him and he’s alone.

The trip to the third floor is blessedly short and soon he’s standing in front of the door to room 1045, trying to get the paper key to work though the lock keeps taunting him with its red lights refusing to change color. He’s not sure what he’s done differently than the seven thousand other times he took the card through the scanner, but just as he’s about to give up and head back to the reception to ask for help, the lock sort of “dings” and the lights are suddenly green.With a grin he presses down the handle and steps inside the tiny hall.

Dean shoves his gloves into the pocket’s of the jacket, hangs the jack on a coat hanger and drapes the scarf around the neck before hanging it back up; then he squats down and carefully unties the laces before taking off the boots, placing them on the floor under the jacket. Taking a deep breath he locks the door behind him before opening the one leading to the room itself.

“Hello Dean,” a voice like smooth whiskey laced in too much smoke rolling over gravel floats through the air, sending shivers down his spine, making warmth unfurl in his belly as his insides clench in equal parts of _want_ and _need._ His mouth waters when his eyes fall on the person lounging on the bed, a mass of tan and black against the whiteness of the bedding, the only true color the azure blue eyes looking into Dean’s eyes and straight into his soul.

It stops him in his track that gaze, glues his feet to the floor as everything that he is, every flaw (and quality) is laid bare for the world to see even if the world is nothing more than the man on the bed. It makes his heart beat faster and his hands getting a little clammy in nervousness even now when he knows that this man before him sees nothing but perfection in his imperfections, wants nothing but to worship at the altar of Dean’s body and mind. Still, it doesn’t make it any less intimidating being the sole focus of those intense eyes and it isn’t until warm breath hits his skin that Dean’s able to feel his muscles unlock as he slumps against a firm chest, strong arms wrapping around him to keep him steady as chapped lips slot against his own.

He loosens up under those sinful lips and the skilled hands soon tangled in his hair, turning his head this way and that to whichever angle the man deems the best in that particular instant. By the time there’s a tongue begging for entrance Dean’s legs have regained their strength and his hands have begun their own journey over cotton clad muscles down to the curve of a denim encased ass he wants to sink his teeth into. The thought is gone almost as soon as it’s there when his fingers meet bare skin where he’s managed to get the shirt free of the skin tight jeans.  
As Dean opens his mouth granting access his hands travels back up smooth skin covering muscles mimicking his own movements.

They get lost in the feel of shoulder blades flexing like wings beneath them, with each shift they take him higher where the air’s too thin to breathe and Dean feels close to passing out. He doesn’t want this to stop, just presses impossibly closer as he inclines and their tongues dances across the invisible gap between them, dip toward the floor and soars to the roof while exploring every nook and cranny amidst their twirling. When they finally separate, chests heaving with the lack of oxygen, there’s barely room for a single piece of crepé paper between their lips. Foreheads against each other they share breath while their hearts settles into a slower rhythm.

Regaining his composure first Dean starts moving forcing his partner to either move with him or get knocked over. They don’t get very far before the bed’s in their way and the man willingly goes down, gracefully falling backwards bouncing slightly on the bed before Dean’s on top of him, hands mindlessly tugging at clothes not caring for insignificant details like buttons or zippers and soon the shirt’ll never be the same again but he can let his eyes roam the expanse of a broad chest, tan skin stretched thin over sinewy muscles and right there, drawing in his eyes, two pink mounds practically begging for his touch.

Experimentally Dean brushes a thumb gently across them, watching them pebble and rise as if trying to follow the touch; he repeats the action, marvels at their responsiveness when the man arches his back trying to get closer. It’s all the invitation he needs, bending his head to cover one with his mouth, swiping his tongue across it, around it as it grows in his mouth daring him to _suck_ and draw high pitched whines from the throat above him. A hand in his hair pulls him from his prize but before he can voice a complaint he’s pushed down onto the other nipple, treating it the same way as its friend.

”Dean,” it’s gravel rough and reignites the desperation he felt when first laying eyes upon him and Dean at long last lets go with an audible ‘pop’, taking in the sight before him.

”Cas,” he groans, his voice sounding every bit as wrecked as the other’s. Amazed Dean watched him sit, his ruined shirt billowing around him as he insistently starts divesting Dean of his clothes. Cas is far more careful to Dean’s eternal amusement, painstakingly unbuttoning every single button before sliding the shirt down Dean’s arms; the t-shirt is off quite a lot faster but no less careful and then Cas just sort of _stops_ , his eyes wide and blown as he takes in the sight of a half naked Dean, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips as his gaze drops and lands on the bulge in his pants where Dean’s uncomfortably hard - though if he’s uncomfortable he thinks Cas should be in pain, as his jeans are far tighter than Dean’s and a quick glance is enough to ensure him that Cas is every bit as turned on as he is - burning up.

Tentatively Cas reaches out a hand, brushing against the straining cloth and when Dean takes a shuddering breath he looks up through his lashes, a satisfied smirk stretching his mouth the only warning before the jeans are halfway down his thighs and Dean’s on his back. There’s a sense of vertigo but it disappears as Cas tips forward, opening his mouth and in one smooth move has taken Dean to the root.

Dean’s blood is pumping to the rhythm of Cas’ head bobbing up and down, his heart stutters when Cas’ tongue curl around the head of his cock and takes a detour under the foreskin mapping the ridge hidden there. If Dean was able to open his eyes he’d seen the outline of it under the skin on Cas’ throat but all he’s capable of is lying there and let the sensation wash over him as it constricts around him, squeezing it every time it goes down and right before it goes back up; the heated wetness coating him from root to tip, mixing with his own fluids that is masterfully coaxed from him in the slowest way possible.  
Eternities passes and Dean’s hovering right at the edge of oblivion, just needing that final push. It comes in the form of the pad of a thumb applying the slightest pressure to his hole, a hand squeezing his hip hard enough there’s going to be marks later and Cas finally hollowing his cheeks and _sucking_ just as Dean’s cock hits the back of his throat. He’s dimly aware - once he regain consciousness that is - that Cas is gently suckling him through the after shocks, his thumb still drawing patterns on the thin skin between his cheeks and at some point Cas has managed to reach for the lube.

With a groan Dean gets up on his elbows taking in the long lines of Cas’ body where he’s lying in the v of Dean’s legs, the mop of black hair making his skin look lighter than it is and drawing attention to the tiny birthmarks Cas likes to follow with his fingers, teeth, tongue; on a few memorable occasions with his dick, smearing precum all over Dean’s lower stomach while laughing that he’s connecting the dots. Just the thought has him burning bright red just as Cas looks up and pushes his finger inside in the same second.  
Not expecting it just yet Dean gasps at the intrusion even as he moves just enough to get the digit a little deeper in silent invitation. Cas, perceptive as he is, complies and gently pushes it all the way inside.

They’re suspended in the moment, their only point of contact Cas’ thumb deep inside Dean’s body and their eyes locked in a heated stare. It’s too much but not nearly enough though there’s no telling who makes the first move but the end result is their breath mingling as they once again try to devour each other, Cas’ finger a grounding presence while they battle for the upper hand.  
Cas, cheating bastard that he is, wins when he withdraws his thumb, only to replace it with two new, well-lubed ones, pushed in without as much as a breath of adjustment and instantly starting a well known rhythm of in and out, soon interspersed with scissoring and the addition of more fingers. There are not enough air in his lungs for Dean to complain nor enough blood in his brain to string the words together as he rocks his hips trying to get Cas to go deeper, faster.

When Cas _finally_ sweeps his fingers across his prostate Dean almost wants to cry with how good it feels; every nerve ending light up like a Christmas tree and if he’d been able to he’d be singing Cas’ praise to the Heavens. As it is he just moans wantonly and grabs his once more erect cock hard at the base not wanting to come just yet. He opens his eyes, unsure when he closed them, and blushes once more under Cas’ triumphant grin, his face and chest feeling as if they’re on fire though his answering smile is every bit as smug when he shifts enough to let his foot brush over Cas’ denim clad crotch and his mouth falls open as he pants through a shivering moan.

Once Cas deems Dean ready he at long last unzips his jeans pushes them down just far enough to let his cock spring free - Dean might’ve worried about drowning in his own drool a the sight of that long, thick rigid flesh in its nest of dark curls if it had been the first time he’d seen it - and coats it in a liberal amount of the slick substance he didn’t get inside Dean. The second Cas’ fingers are gone Dean’s up on his hands and knees wriggling in what they’re both aroused enough to consider enticing but would in other circumstances be met with a fond grin; he’s not left aching and empty for long as Cas’ heat is soon draped across his back, the head of his cock nudging at Dean’s entrance asking to be let in. With a deep breath Dean relaxes, opens up and then gravity does the rest of the work.

They take a few minutes to breathe through it; to Dean the feeling of being so full he’s almost ready to burst at the seams, and to Cas being engulfed in the white hot flames of tight heat gripping him where he’s most vulnerable though this is the one place he’s always safe; to adjust to the overwhelming feeling of being consumed only to be reborn in a tidal wave of pleasure when they start rocking against each other. 

When Cas goes forward Dean presses back, their bodies working in sync as their hips grind against each other, the only sounds echoing through the room is the deafening sound of skin slapping against skin where Cas’ thighs slams against Dean’s ass cheeks, the moans punched from their throats as their movements gain speed and the creaking of the bed springs adds to the cacophony that is their love making.

Dean’s arms give up at some point, his body growing tired with its previous nervousness and the first orgasm as he’s nearing the second in less than an hour. He’s face down in the pillow and ass held up by Cas’ hands on his hips, doesn’t even have the energy to reach under him where his cock’s slapping against his stomach dripping precum onto the sheets and his skin; Cas is moving with precision, each thrust has the head of his cock pressing against Dean’s prostate and somehow it’s enough as his walls suddenly clamp down like a vice, forcing Cas to stop moving and he’s coming all over the himself and the bed.  
Incapable of doing anything but lie there open mouthed he just pants through Cas picking up the pace once he’s able to move, letting the force of it push him further up the bed as Cas with the snap of his hips thrusts once, twice and then a last time before going completely still and stiff as he empties inside Dean.

They may doze off for a little while, all Dean knows is that when he opens his eyes again he’s lying on his side and can feel the wetness in his ass and the top of the back of his thighs; Cas is lying next to him, his eyes closed and lips parted, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. Dean knows he’s going to regret it when he wakes, but he’s too tired to care right now, simply tucks the duvet around them and falls asleep surrounded by Cas and love.


End file.
